Velvet & Sidekicks
by Anguis
Summary: Because, as much as books and movies tell us otherwise, perfect people don’t *live.* A tribute to the imperfect. Gregory Goyle/Millicent Bulstrode GG/MB


**Summary:** Because, as much as books and movies tell us otherwise, perfect people don't _live_. While Harry is off saving the world, Draco is styling his hair and buffing his nails, and Hermione is getting top grades _and_ cultivating a willowy physique, the rest of us are living, laughing, and loving. A tribute to the imperfect. GG/MB (Gregory Goyle/Millicent Bulstrode)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Am I JKR? Yeah, right—like she would ever give these two a third dimension, much less romance. They're her intellectual property—I'm just giving them the consideration they deserve.

**Velvet & Sidekicks**

"Hey," she whispered, settling down on the bench next to him.

"Hey," he answered, a slight smile relaxing deep-thought furrows from his broad forehead.

"Told to get lost?" she queried knowingly.

"Yeah. You, too?"

"Well, actually, I was ordered to find myself a corner and watch the spiders spin cobwebs. I figured that after a glass or two of that punch she'll never remember what she told me, so I decided to come out here and keep you company. Alright with you?"

"Fine by me, so long as they don't pick this bower to try to grab a quick snog, or worse."

"Oh, _they_ won't. Pansy let it slip that she's set up a little trysting room in the dungeons. She decorated it herself. I was tempted to leave them a. . . surprise, but it would be too incriminating."

Greg blinked and then wrinkled his nose. "I'd rather not spoil a perfectly good evening by thinking about _them_. . . like _that_."

A hearty laugh escaped into the crisp air as Millicent countered, "_I'd_ rather not spoil a perfectly good evening by thinking about Pansy's decorations. They're probably pink and gold to match her robes, with flowers and lace and. . . ." Millicent trailed off with a shudder.

"Well, speaking of robes, you look great tonight!"

"Thanks," Millicent mumbled, unconvinced. "Pansy warned me not to upstage her, as if I could. I almost chose an outrageous red outfit with sparkles and charmed feathers, just to spite her, but in the end I decided to stick with being the faithful friend and grateful hanger-on, so here I am." She shrugged, ill at ease with the turn of the conversation.

Greg chuckled. "You still outclassed her. That's why she's so snappish tonight. Royal purple—and you wear it like royalty." He casually slid his large hand across her back to rest on her hip. Millicent tensed as his blunt fingertips began tracing gentle circles in the velvet where the arc of her belly curved over into her lap. When he made no further move, neither rough groping nor repulsed retreat, she recollected who he was, ashamed that her long-learned sense of self-preservation could so quickly supersede their mutual trust, and carefully leaned into his relaxed half-embrace.

She sighed shakily, placing her hand tentatively on his knee and smoothing the miniscule wrinkles in his robes. "You know, you're one of the few guys I've seen who can really wear velvet well." She glanced up at him with a teasingly admonishing expression. "You really should have advised Draco that he cannot."

"I did, and not just once, but twice. He was dead set on velvet with silver thread, 'to match his eyes,' I believe." Greg snorted. "Too bad he forgot that he's a bony stick with blond hair."

After a minute of comfortable silence, he slanted his gaze sideways at Millicent. "I don't think I've ever told you this, but I'm really glad you're not.

"Pardon? What are you glad I'm not?"

"Like Draco or Pansy."

"You mean prancing gits with grating whines and terrible fashion sense?"

"Yeah, that too," Greg agreed slowly. He shook his head slightly. "Merlin's balls! It's not coming out how I meant it to." A dark flush suffused his cheeks, and he turned slightly away from Millicent, withdrawing his arm and self-consciously straightening his robes.

Millicent immediately began enquiring, "What's wrong, Greg? Did I say something? I'm sorry for whatever it was. . . ."

He turned back towards her abruptly, silencing her impulsive apology by grasping her hands. "That's just it, Millicent. There's nothing wrong with you. It's me that's the problem. I wanted to say it right and all for you, but I just can't. I know you know me and how I am, but, for once, I wanted to do things right." He let his head droop onto his chest.

Feeling oddly responsible for his despondency and curious as to what he had been trying to say, Millicent freed her hand from his loosened grip. Cupping his chin, feeling his pulse beating strongly in her palm, she raised his head.

After several moments of staring blankly into his eyes while feeling his blood, his life, coursing fiercely through her fingers, she managed to ask in a raspy whisper, "What were you trying to say?"

"I was wondering if. . . maybe you'd perhaps consider. . . aw, heck! D'you want to marry me?"

Millicent was silent. She gaped at him as if he had just professed his undying love to Harry Potter.

Greg fumbled in his pockets and then rushed on. "I don't have a proper ring, so I transfigured a fork I snitched from the Great Hall. Bollixed it up as usual, but, if you'll have it, it'll do until we leave, and I can get a job." In the damp palm of his proffered hand lay a lopsided ring—a heavy, plain circlet of silver with a faint impression of the Hogwarts' crest on the inside.

Clasping his hand, the ring pressed between their palms, Millicent buried her face in his chest. Although alarmed by her reaction, Greg wrapped his free arm around her as he began to feel the dampness of tears seeping through his robes.

After sobbing indelicately for a minute or two, Millicent collected herself as best she could and raised her reddened eyes to meet Greg's anxious gaze. With the sleeve of his robes, he daubed the last tears from her matted eyelashes and wiped her dripping nose. She smiled weakly.

"Greg," Millicent murmured, "Yeah." Though their hands were trembling, he managed to slip the ring onto her finger. Then, with the shy awkwardness of all firsts, he kissed her, the salt of her tears and the sweet of her mouth mingling blissfully on his lips.

As the fairy lights glowed softly in the bushes, another couple peered through the trees.

"Shhh. . . ." cautioned a softly smiling Neville as he led Luna on in search of a bower of their own.


End file.
